Five New Years
by Wyndmir
Summary: Curt and Arthur ring in the New Year five different ways.


**Title:** Five Things (Yes, a dreaded "five things" fic. You love it, you know you do.)

**Author:** Akahoshi

**Pairing:** Curt/Arthur

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the character mentioned herein nor make any profit from this story. It's all for hot velvety fun.

1.

Wait! Wait wait!" He was bent in half laughing hysterically, trying to wrestle the bottle of champagne away from the taller man. It was a gift really, that he had such hard, pointy elbows, because when applied to Arthur's ribs _just so_, the journalist tumbled to moldy carpet in a tangle of knees, dimples, and wavy brown hair. Curt shook the bottle with authority and just when Arthur had gotten his breathing under control enough to try to get his feet back under him, Curt unleashed the sticky, frothy spray, drenching them, the narrow hallway they had fallen in, and the 'clean sheets' lady emerging two doors back.

Curt had never heard of Macao before the mid winter day when Arthur had gotten home early, bustling around the kitchen in the same tense, brisk huff as if he were still walking against the 16 degree 20 mile an hour wind gusts outside. He rattled off a laundry list of column leads and foreign policy facts as the color gradually returned to his lips. Lips that were chapped and a little reddened, thoroughly animated, through which poured the sexiest murmured lilt he had ever heard, kept Curt distracted from what was actually said.

Somehow he was on a plane before the month's end. He'd never heard of Macao and he'd never gone on one of Arthur's journalism trips before. But Arthur's hair smelled of the appley hotel shampoo from the night before and he'd told Curt it was warm in Macao, even at New Years and Arthur was there, so none of this could be anything but good.

That Curt had brought and worn a watch at all was a sure sign of his old age Arthur had said. That he hadn't changed it off New York time, though they'd flown half way around the world was why Arthur had smiled so warmly when Curt congratulated him on the official transition to 1986 at 9:27 am local time. Could they get champagne in a place like this at breakfast? Sure, Curt had shrugged, reasoning that a good buzz was the same in every time zone, every language. There was a liquor store at the casino as a matter of fact, but Curt took them down to the water. They both new that water looked the same everywhere, wet and blue was wet and blue. But they'd never seen _that_ water before, Curt had said. Arthur had agreed, adding that now was a good time for new things and he winked in a thoroughly un-Arthur-like way that did weird things to Curt's stomach and nice things to his crotch.

11 pm local time and they couldn't stop laughing long enough to make it back to the room. There had been a joke in there somewhere about pig intestines and how good the local melons were, but Arthur couldn't remember what they were laughing about now. There was a sharp pain in his side, not associated with laughter and somehow that blond bastard had gotten the bottle away from him _again_. He was still on the floor, drowsily imagining licking champagne from Curt's shoulder blades when the singer looked over his shoulder and offered "Happy New Year?" somewhat apologetically to some unseen behind them. A chirped response, Curt thought sounded like a vocalization of snapping guitar strings and he looked down at Arthur, chuckling through his confusion.

"_Mowa_," Arthur struggled to translate, "Not..._yi luk wo-ai_. Not for two months." And he grinned up at Curt, even has his hands slithered up to his hips to drag him down. "You know...uhn...you know what this means." He pressed the words against Curt's lips and neck in between lazy kisses.

"Hmmmmm?" Curt hummed, tilting his head back for more.

"Celebrate again." He whispered getting a hand between them. He tasted Curt's smile and kissed him again, champagne and room and time zones forgotten, 1986 starting off just as perfectly as 1985 had ended.

2.

"What's this?" The cassette liner stretched across the bed, parallel to Curt, who was sprawled on his stomach, feet kicked up in the air, one ear phone pushed back when he felt the bed dip under Arthur's weight.

"They've been getting a lot of radio play." Curt explained as Arthur glossed over the liner, casually skimming lyrics and production notes. "They're ok, I guess. More from your neck of the woods, though. You'd like 'em."

Later, Curt moved the tape player into the bathroom so Arthur could listen while he got ready for work. He was just trying to be nice. He liked Arthur. He liked music. It only made sense that the two should get together as much as possible. Had he known at the time that he was widowing himself to a developing obsession, he would have brought home _The Carpenters_ for Arthur instead.

A month or two passed.

"What's up?" Curt asked. Upending the Sound Waves bag on the table. "We already have this one." Was that a hint of dread in his voice?

"It broke." Arthur replied noncommitally.

"It broke?"

"Mm hmm."

"You mean you wore it out."

Arthur pocketed the cassette protectively, which immediately set Curt on the defensive. God help him if Arthur tried to draw him into another debate on album names and nuclear awareness.

A month or two passed.

"Is that...are you wearing _their shirt_?" Curt stared incredulously at the four young men stretched in black and white across his lover's chest. They had such poofy hair and god looking at them made him feel old. God help him if he got called to gig with them on a US tour, never mind Live Aid and hungry Ethiopians, and worthy causes in rock, no matter what Arthur said.

Christmas.

Arthur pulled the wrapping off the cassette with unabashed delight in his eyes.

"This is great! My last one-"

"Wore out. I know." Curt said flatly, doubting it was much of a crime to strangle an Irishman for stealing his boyfriend.

New Years.

_They better not cut a new album this year_. Curt thought sourly as he watched Arthur hang one of their posters in their bedroom. _In their bedroom!_ They were currently doing limited shows in America. Curt wanted to gig in Ireland purely out of spite, but the thought of leaving Arthur alone in the same country as them did weird things to his stomach. He never put any stock into resolutions, but for 1986 he promised himself to come up with a single Arthur would like more than "Bad."

3.

"Come on!" Arthur was winding that olive scarf around his neck. Man, did he look great. "We'll miss the ball drop if we don't get moving, you know we'll never get a cab tonight."

Curt pulled the zipper up on his leather pants, opening his mouth to say hell with the ball drop and if they were really focused they could get in a couple more fucks before 1986, when the phone rang. Curt picked up the phone on the night stand while Arthur wandered into the hallway in search of his jacket.

"Yeah?" Curt huffed, digging for a smoke since the pack was right there and expecting it to be Lou with some last minute holiday people story bullshit assignment.

"Curt." The fake American accent was gone, but so was the Birmingham purr. No matter, Curt would have recognized that voice in any incarnation and it was like pouring ice water down his spine. He sat down on the edge of the bed, dragging his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

4.

Arthur had been standing in the studio for 49 minutes before Curt looked up.

"Hmm?" The glazed-distracted look never quite left his eyes, even when they settled on his lover. "Hey man. What's up?"

Arthur only grinned in response and it left Curt feeling like he was supposed to know something, like he had forgotten something. Take out the trash maybe? But Arthur wasn't weird about things like that and at any rate, he wouldn't have taken time off work to come to the studio to grin at him over it. Curt's eyes were already back on the console knobs when the last thought caught up with him.

"Hey," he asked, this time not looking up at all, "why uh, how come you're off already?" Something in the guitar play back sounded too brassy and there was still the lip flap noise he wanted to recut on the second track if he had time. Come to think of it, they were going to remix the solo all together, or drop it and he was ready to fight on that one because it was the focal point of the whole song, more than enough to make up for what he thought was a bit of a weak hook and only when he tooled the bass back down did he realize Arthur had answered his question some time ago.

"Hm? What? Fuck, babe. Shit. M'sorry, did something happen?" He finally tore his eyes away from the bench and looked up at Arthur who was still grinning.

"S'New Years." He repeated. "I'm off."

Curt lit a cigarette, letting life and reality and details flood back into his awareness with each drag, a tidal surge that did nothing to diminish the mountain of an album it broke over. It had turned colder, he cold vaguely recall. He kept freezing on his way home from the studio until Arthur brought him his coat that day. And holiday bonuses had gone around and he'd left his in the studio office until someone mailed it to his apartment and Arthur deposited it for him. He remembered leaving for an hour to do his shopping, browsing through some junk store for something that reminded him remotely of Arthur when inspiration for track 12 had hit and he had rushed back to the studio, shopping forgotten until 6 hours later which was why he never made it home that night. And then there was Christmas Eve, what felt like more than just a week ago. Arthur had appeared then, like today, only with coffee that time, but the same smile and they hung out for a few cuts, but left early. It was a pleasant surprise that he had gifts in a store bag for Arthur but he couldn't remember what they were, for the life of him and Arthur had gotten him edible body paint and they almost knocked over the tree, and when they were done he had rushed back to the studio because what track 6 needed had finally clicked...

And yeah, it was a lot of studio time, but he was finally making progress. This was the one, he could feel it all the way down to his soul and he had to get it out. But now that he had finally stopped to think about it, he missed Arthur. Arthur was always so warm and smooth and solid in bed when he crawled in, still cold from his walk home or smoking in the cab, and it never occurred to him before that Arthur might have been lonely before he got there and lately he hadn't stuck around long at all.

"That's a wrap guys. Let's hook up on Monday."

A chorus of good natured cheers and shouts of Happy New Year floated through the studio.

5.

Curt stumbled in to the dive he sometimes slept in, left arm still stinging through the blissful haze of everything else. He could see his breath. Like a dragon! He giggled to himself sleepily, too far gone to realize they had cut the power again. He felt so empty, so completely empty, that when he flopped down on sodden sheets he wondered for a moment if he would float right back off again, but he sank instead, down farther than some part of him registered that he should have gone. He stuffed a wadded lump of sheets into his mouth to feel full again, too far gone to realize it was hunger. Silence closed in on him and something about that made him wonder, but he was too far gone to realize he was alone.


End file.
